Page 30 of His Lost Lycan Luna

ChapterTwenty

IVY

The movement makes me cringe in pain as my ribs throb, and I clench my teeth to stop crying out. Quick movements always give me sharp pains and cause my breathing to become stifled.

"Sorry, did that hurt?" he asks. I shake my head. "Don't lie. Why do you lie about being in pain?" he asks while unraveling the bandages.

Unsure whether to answer, I remain quiet.

"I asked you a question?" he says, tapping the side of my leg and making me jump and blurt out an answer.

"Mrs. Daley would double our punishment if we made noise," I murmur, remembering the first time I cried out. I was eleven the first time she whipped me. Before that day, she would scold or smack us. But she never gave us the cane or whip until my refusal to sit on the butcher's lap which lost her the meat rations that week.

I had cried, begged, and cried some more, which turned three lashes into six. The next time the butcher visited, and I was ordered to sit on his lap, Abbie quickly took my spot. Had I known what it would cost her later, I would have taken the lashes; his vile touching only grew worse, just like Mrs. Daley's punishments. After a few times, we learned quickly not to make noise. It was always awful if we did.

"Is that why you have so many scars?" he asks.

"No, we learned to keep quiet. It just didn't matter how well we did our chores; Mrs. Daley always found something to punish us for."

I grit my teeth as the pressure supporting my broken ribs slips away when the bandages get down to the last layer. It feels like he's peeling my skin off from how soiled the bandages are.

"What happened to your ribs and back?" he questions, his fingers brushing my ribs.

I cringe away from his touch, gritting my teeth. A stifled whimper leaves my lips as he presses on the most painful one.

"You don't have to be quiet, Ivy. I won't punish you for being in pain. You would have to do something pretty extreme for me to punish you," he murmurs.

"Can you lift your arms above your head?" he asks, and I try to lift both arms; the left pulls at my side making my arms tremble.

"That's enough; this side looks like you have broken it. How did you do that?" he asks.

"I tripped down the stairs, sir," I tell him.

"When?"

"The day we arrived?"

"You have worked for days with broken ribs and said nothing?"

I choose to say nothing.

"You should have said something, Ivy. If you are in pain, you can't be expected to work in this condition."

"It's fine; I can still work," I tell him quickly.

"No, you will remain here with me, so I know you're resting."

"That's unnecessary; I can still work."

"It wasn't a choice. You'll remain with me," King Kyson says, grabbing a jar of ointment and rubbing it on the cuts.

I remain still while he cleans the markings that brand my skin. My face heats the longer he touches me. I feel dirty and embarrassed that he is touching me, his servant.

Yet the feel of his skin on mine feels oddly warming, my skin tingling everywhere he touches. He moves behind me, and the bed dips more.

"Stay there," he says, climbing off the bed and walking over to his dresser. He grabs a black shirt out of the drawer and climbs back onto the bed, then retakes his place behind me.

"I think you should leave the bandage off; let it get some air," he says when I feel his fingers pinch my bra, releasing the hooks. I shriek, covering myself before feeling his breath on my neck.

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